


How I Disappear

by bandom trash (fletchfeathers)



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Angst, Minor Violence, Other, just straight up angst i'm not sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 04:19:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1968786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fletchfeathers/pseuds/bandom%20trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"you can break my soul,<br/>take my life away,<br/>beat me,<br/>hurt me,<br/>kill me.</p><p>                                              but for the love of god<br/>don’t touch him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	How I Disappear

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't happy. Or long. Sorry. (No I'm not.)

It is dark, and it is cold.

Spencer blinks back into reality with his head feeling like it’s been split open and the taste of blood in his mouth.

He can’t see. He can’t feel his hands or his feet. He is scared.

He hears muffled voices, rough and loud, and a door bangs open. Spencer hears footsteps coming towards him, and realises he’s blindfolded, maybe bound. He tries to remember where the hell he is.

“You’re awake,” someone – a man, a young man – says. “About time.”

 _Where am I,_ Spencer wants to ask, but his throat is raw and his mouth doesn’t want to work. _Where am I, what’s going on, I’m scared, what’s –_

“You’ve been out for hours,” the voice continues, soft and low in a way that chills Spencer right to his bones. “Maybe now you’ll want to co-operate.”

 _With what, with what, I don’t understand,_ but Spencer’s just choking, spitting out blood and – and teeth, oh god, oh _god_ – and he’s shaking, and everything hurts.

The voice just hums quietly near his ear. Spencer doesn’t like it.

Spencer wants to go home. 

Where’s Brendon?

“You haven’t been very helpful, Smith,” the voice purrs, but Spencer doesn’t care because there’s panic rising in his chest, Brendon, where’s Brendon, where is he, why isn’t Spencer at home –

 

He closes his eyes and tries his best to remember. He thinks of a soft, sleepy smile, brighter than the sunlight streaming in the window, and dark, dark eyes, and gentle presses of lips, and long walks with Bogart in the park, and –

\- and Brendon telling him what he was, and how they’d be coming for him, soon.

The rattle of gunfire, and the way they broke down the door, and Bogart skittering to Spencer and yelping his high-pitched alarm.

 

“We’re starting to think that maybe you’re not worth our time. So."

 

Spencer remembers a blow to the back of his head, and waking up here. He remembers the first round of questioning, how ruthless they’d been, how they told him what they’d do to him if he didn’t tell them the truth.

He remembers the second round of questioning: fists, matches, cattle prods.   

 

He doesn't even know how long he's been here; every day has been spent the same: blindfolded and bound.

At least they're not doing this to Brendon.

 

He's jolted from his thoughts when he feels cold metal at the nape of his neck. 

He doesn't move.

“Tell us where Urie is.”

Spencer knows, but Spencer also knows what they would do to Brendon if they found him. Brendon, with any luck, is miles away, safe and sound.

He’d promised Brendon he’d find him, soon.

He hears the click of the gun’s safety catch.

“Last chance now, Smith,” the man says.

He closes his eyes behind the blindfold, breathes in deep, breathes out slowly.

He doesn’t say a single word, but he hopes that wherever Brendon is, he knows that Spencer loves him. It’s all he can do.

The gunshot is the last thing he hears.


End file.
